More Than Kin, Less Than Kind
by DaywalkerPistachio
Summary: Something has gone sour in the small town of South Park.  Rated for themes. Chapter 8.
1. Tis Bitter Cold

**Chapter One:** "Tis Bitter Cold, and I am Sick at Heart"

Kyle's boots crunched across the frosted ground as he walked behind the looming shadow of the tallest of the goth kids. Kyle shivered, hugging his gloved hands around his torso in a vain attempt to keep warm. The shadow of the tall Goth disappeared behind the corner of the building, and Kyle hastened his step to keep up.

"Seen anything yet?" Kyle heard the taller boy ask.

"Nothing," the latter responded, taking a slow drag on his cigarette. "Just the quiet, depressing pain of night." Kyle rounded the corner to see the black clad boys talking to each other in quiet, bored monotones. The shorter one turned, flicking his fringe out of his eyes. "Kyle?"

"Yeah." His teeth chattered as he managed to answer.

"I told him what was going on, he doesn't believe me." The taller Goth shrugged, stealing the cigarette from the other's hand and inhaling deeply.

"Conformist." The shorter one flicked his fringe again. "We see it every night at the same time. You'll see it tonight too, if you stay."

"You're full of it." Kyle huffed, rubbing his hands together.

"No, we're not." The taller of the Goths walked toward Kyle, blowing a puff of smoke in his face. "The last few nights, we've seen this... this thing. It walks out from those trees, exactly at—" He was cut off by a loud beep coming from his wrist watch. He glanced down at it. His eyes widened and he held the watch up to Kyle's face. '1:00am' the clock said. "—exactly at one A.M."

"There!" The fringed goth yelled, pointing away from the building. Kyle spun around hastily. He saw a young man walking toward him from the thicket beyond the school. Kyle stood in shock, staring at the oh too familiar figure approaching him at an ever quickening pace. The young man came closer, soulless eyes flickering from Kyle, to the Goths, and then back.

Kyle began backing away from the approaching young man until he was pressed against the wall of the building. His knees shook while his mind shouted all the possible logical explanations for what was happening. Unfortunately for Kyle, his mind was not telling him anything convincing. The young man came closer, placing his hands on either side of Kyle's head. Kyle stared into the face of a person he refused to believe was in front of him. The kind yet empty eyes, the diabolical smile, the thick wisps of honey gold hair hanging over his eyes. He was perfectly still. The wind crawled across Kyle's face, rustling his auburn curls lightly. The silent man in front of him was unaffected by the wind. He remained perfectly still in the weakened moonlight.

"K-k-" Kyle stuttered, unable to utter the word that had unwillingly lodged itself in his throat. The young man in front of him nodded, answering all of Kyle's unspoken questions without a word. He smirked, took a soundless step back, and turned his back on the three terrified boys as he walked towards the trees.

"Wait!" Kyle yelled, stumbling forward. "Why are you back?" He took a few shaky steps after the man, who continued to walk silently away from him. "You... you weren't coming back. What's going on?"

"He's not going to answer you." The fringed goth shook beside him. "He never does."

"God dammit, stay! Why are you back? Talk to me!" Kyle screamed as the figure disappeared into the thicket of trees. He began running, chasing after the illusion as he wove between the trees. The Goths followed, peering around the knotted tree trunks that composed the thicket.

"He's there!" yelled the tall, curly-haired goth, pointing at the trees to his left.

"No, he went this way!"

"He's... gone." A heavy silence fell around the boys, encasing them in fear. The weak moonlight was lost on the tree branches, covering the three of them in a thick, impenetrable darkness.

"It's him, isn't it?" The taller of the Goths asked.

"Yeah," Kyle stared at his feet, feeling a wave of nausea overtake his body. "But, why would he come back like that?"

"Unfinished business?" suggested the fringed goth, lighting up another cigarette.

"No, he never had unfinished business, he wasn't that kind of guy." Kyle's head whirred again, dropping to his knees to try to quell the feeling in his stomach. "He wouldn't talk to me..." Kyle looked up at the boys. "Why wouldn't he talk to me?"

Silence hung between the three boys as Kyle slowly lifted himself to his feet, brushing the frost off his kneecaps.

"Is there anyone you think he would talk to?"

The Goths looked at each other with a look of uncertainty. A soft gust of wind brushed across their ankles, swaying the bare branches of the overhead trees.

"Stan."

* * *

**Author's Notes**

Because I really don't know what to write here (it being my first fanfic and all), I'll just say thanks to Taz, (aka astrya02) for actually encouraging me to post this thing. Look what you started. :P Anyways, this is the first chapter to what will hopefully be a decent story. Review if you wish, and thanks for reading.

**~A.P.**


	2. The Memory Be Green

I probably should have put this at the beginning, but **I DO NOT OWN SOUTH PARK OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS**, they belong to two comic geniuses named Matt Stone and Trey Parker.**I ALSO DO NOT OWN THE HAMLET QUOTES** (chapter titles), they belong to William Shakespeare. I **do** own this story, which is the crazy love child of my imagination.

* * *

**Chapter Two:** "The Memory be Green"

Cartman effectively had the attention of everyone in his crowded living room, just as he wanted. The lights were out save for a few strings of Christmas lights strewn carelessly over the furniture, and his vision was clogged in a haze of pot smoke. Nevertheless, he could tell he had everyone's undivided attention, just like he wanted.

"Now, I know everyone's still shook up about Kenny's death and all, but Kenny wouldn't want us to be sad about this for a long time. Besides, some positive things have happened since he died. Right Bebe?" He looked over to the blonde-haired beauty with a smirk. A few stray chuckles could be heard around the room. Bebe giggled a little before raising her glass and nodding, encouraging him to go on. "So let's try to get past this, and just party. Ok? Cool."

He hit the play button on the stereo, resuming the loud, bombastic music, effectively drowning out the various conversations that had erupted. Cartman sauntered over to Bebe, who leaned over, pecking him lightly on the lips.

"That was a nice thing to say, Cartman." She smiled brightly at him, wrapping her long, delicate arms around his left arm as they began walking around the room. "I still can't believe that all these years, you really were just big-boned!" She giggled, tracing her fingers down his muscular arm. Cartman smirked at his relatively new girlfriend.

They walked from the crowded living room to the empty kitchen so Cartman could find something to drink. He rummaged through the fridge, half-listening as Bebe chatted about how cute Red's shoes were that night. Just as Cartman popped the cap off his ice-cold beer, his relatively peaceful thoughts- filled with the rhythmic bass line of the music and Bebe's opinions on girls combat boots- were interrupted.

"Oh god! What if it never comes out!" shrieked a trembling blonde who was being dragged into the kitchen by his calmer and stoic friend.

"Relax, it's just soda." Craig lifted the twitching blonde onto the counter next to the sink before proceeding to turn on the water and splash it onto the front of his own blue sweatshirt. Tweek nervously looked down at the can of soda in his hand; the one that he had evidently spilled onto Craig's sweatshirt.

"Sorry I ruined your sweatshirt! GAH!"

"Seriously Tweek, it's not like I'm going to need this sweatshirt in Florida," Craig sighed, drying the splotch on his shirt with a dishcloth that was neatly folded next to the sink.

"Florida? What a faggy place to go for vacation, Craig!" Cartman chuckled darkly. He may have lost his baby fat over the years, but he never lost his hatred for Craig. All Cartman got in response was a middle finger flipped in his face. "Well, are you bringing the twitchy spazz with you too?" Bebe smacked Cartman's arm lightly, as a warning. Tweek twitched, spilling some of his soda onto the countertop from his erratic movements.

Craig sighed and wiped the spilled soda. "Not that it's any of your business, but no. I'm not bringing Tweek with me, I'm just going to visit some family, that's all."

"Yours or Wendy's?" Bebe politely asked, cutting off Cartman before he could retort.

Craig grabbed Tweek's wrist and pulled him off the counter before heading back toward the living room. "Mine. Wendy's family pisses me off."

"Technically, you're her family too, y'know!" Cartman called after him. Craig threw his hand into the hair, middle finger hoisted as he continued out the door, Tweek in tow. "Damn, I hate that guy!"

Bebe and Cartman left the kitchen shortly after them, mingling with their friends as they weaved through the pot-smoking, making-out, binge drinking teenagers that crowded the living room. He was pleased that the party had been such a success. His smile disappeared when he noticed a familiar figure sulking on the staircase. Behind the rails of the banister sat Stan, staring at the carpet between his feet. Cartman sighed knowingly: the boy was going to go emo again. He leaned against the banister, looking over at his sullen friend. He scanned the boy quickly. He was in dark skinny jeans and a black sweater, and with the dim light failing to illuminate him, he was nothing more than a shadow.

"Hey Stan, you look a little...grey."

"Well, I don't feel very colourful these days," Stan replied, crossing his arms over his knees.

"Stan, Sweetie, can you at least try to have some fun tonight?" Bebe asked, leaning next to Cartman. She smiled lovingly at him, but he refused to lift his eyes. "These things do happen, you know."

"Kenny always came back, Bebe, but not this time. I can't, I just can't let him go this easily."

Cartman cleared his throat. "Everyone dies, Stan. We're all sad about what happened, but sulking for weeks and wearing nothing but black is getting a little ridiculous." Stan lifted his tear-stained face to meet Cartman's. It was no secret that Stan was taking Kenny's death extremely hard. He had always been used to Kenny just coming back. He couldn't accept that his friend wouldn't be coming back this time.

He had to get out of there.

* * *

**Author's Note**

I know this chapter seems to have nothing to do with the first one. And, there may have been things that sparked questions in this chapter. This _is_ one cohesive story, just give it a bit... Again, review if you wish, and thanks for reading. Updates from here on in will not be as fast. I have a bad habit of writing out of order.

Thank you again to astrya02 for editing out my stupid mistakes. If I was making money off of this, you'd be getting a cut.

**~AP**


	3. Too, too Solid Flesh

**Chapter Three:** Too, too solid flesh

Stan leaned against the brick wall of Eric Cartman's house. He stared across the barren backyard, the tree branches whistling in the subtle wind. Stan closed his eyes, breathing in the dry, cold air. The bass from the party's music resonated through the walls, provided him with a calming, steady rhythm. The events of the last few weeks had troubled him, and his mind had been constantly overtaken with disquieting thoughts. But here, leaning against the wall on a too chilly night, he finally felt at peace. He could just be alone with his own thoughts. It was hard enough dealing with the loss of a close friend, but what had followed Kenny's untimely death did not make his grieving process any easier.

"Un-fucking-believable," he whispered. "She's clinging to Cartman like he's some kind of god." Stan shot his head back, hitting it off the wall. "Cartman's nothing like Kenny." Kenny had been the most loving person Stan had ever met. Anyone could see that from the way he treated his friends, and especially his girlfriend. He treated Bebe like a princess, always holding the doors open for her, carrying her books to class. He would even act as her own personal windbreaker, wrapping her up in his arms on gusty days.

"He loved her," Stan mused aloud. "She loved him back, at least I thought she did." His mind flashed to Bebe running to Kenny while he waited at the bus stop. Kenny swooping her up in his arms and swinging her around as the two of them giggled. Bebe was always attached to Kenny, whether hand-in-hand, with one of Kenny's arms wrapped around her waist, or their toes touching under a table, there seemed to be a need to be connected.

But what had it been, a week, maybe? Only _a week_ after Kenny's death had Cartman asked Bebe out. Only _a week_ after Kenny's death had Bebe said yes. Only _a week_ after Kenny's death had Stan seen Cartman and Bebe sucking face as he passed the window of a cafe. Bebe had been a broken mess at Kenny's funeral, crying and wailing until Wendy had wrapped her arm around Bebe's shaking shoulders and escorted her out of the small church. Yet a week later, the same eyes that were bloodshot and tearing at the funeral were bright and sparkling with new-found love. And who was her new love? Cartman; who was still an asshole and who would never treat her as well as Kenny did.

It killed Stan to watch the events of the past few weeks unfold. But what killed him the most was that despite his unquenchable urge to speak his mind, he knew it was best to hold his tongue.

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**Author's Notes**

The chapter is short, but I thought that the snapshot/flashbacks into Stan's brain should stand alone. Also, I know it's all background info, which can get a little boring, but if you don't know it, the rest of the story will not make sense.

Just so you know, this fic will keep switching point of view and have different styles. Review if you wish _(I kinda want to know what you think of it)_, and thank you for reading. :) This may sound cliche, but it means a lot to me.

**~A.P**


	4. These Hands are not more Like

**Chapter Four:** These hands are not more like.

"Stan?"

Stan blinked, inhaling deeply as he was shaken from his thoughts. Through the dark, he could make out a tall, lanky frame that he instantly recognized. He lunged forward, wrapping his arms around his super best friend and crushing him in a hug.

"Hey Kyle." They held each other in an unawkward silence. "I didn't know you were going to be here," Stan coarsely whispered, burying his head in the crook of his friend's neck.

"Neither did I, honestly." Kyle rubbed light circles onto Stan's back.

"I still can't figure out why Cartman threw this party: to help us recover from Kenny's death or to celebrate him and Bebe's new relationship." Stan let go of Kyle and took a step back, staring into his friend's eyes.

"How are you, Stan?" Kyle smiled weakly. "You still thinking about Kenny?"Kyle knew Stan was still grieving over one of his best friends. He knew that Stan replayed the scene of the last time they saw him alive over and over again in his head before he fell asleep. Stan had told him everything.

"Yeah." Stan sighed and closed his eyes. He could see Kenny smiling and laughing like he always did. He could see Kenny shaking his head at him in an affectionately patronizing way. That image in his head was so real, he could almost feel Kenny's long arms wrap around him in a bear hug. "I still see him."

"W-what?" Kyle cautiously asked.

"I can still see him in my mind. He just looks so real." Stan stared at the frosted grass. "But, I know I won't see him again. Not any time soon, at least."

Kyle kicked at a clump of dirt on the ground. An uncomfortable silence poured into the air around them. Stan waited, knowing his friend would have something to say. Kyle was always the logical one, the comforting one, the one who knew exactly what to do or not to do in an emotionally draining situation. He would have something to say, something to lift Stan out of his blues, even momentarily. He always did.

"I saw him last night." Kyle finally blurted out.

Stan gave him a puzzled look. Kyle must have changed the subject and Stan was too distracted to notice. "Saw who?"

"Kenny."

"...Kenny?" Stan stumbled back, once again leaning against the brick wall for support. Kyle saw Kenny? Kenny's dead. It didn't make sense. Stan started breathing heavily, trying to fit the pieces together in his mind. "What do you mean?"

"Let me explain, Stan." Kyle began calmly, taking a few cautious steps toward his friend. "One of the goth kids told me that they kept seeing someone who looked like Kenny walking around the school at night. They asked me to see if it was him. So I went with them yesterday"

"and..."

"I saw Kenny. He walked right up to me. He recognized me." Kyle leaned against the brick wall too, turning his head to face Stan. "He looked like he wanted to say something."

"Did he?"

"No. He just sort of... left. I tried calling after him, but, he just kept walking." Kyle bit his lip.

"He didn't say anything?" Stan stared, dumbfounded. "You sure it was him?"

"It was him alright. Parka and all." Kyle watched as Stan squeezed his eyes shut, fighting off a wave of tears. Kyle could almost feel the memories washing over Stan as he tried to process what was going on.

"Why wouldn't he talk to you?" Stan choked out.

"Stan... I think Kenny doesn't need to talk to me." Kyle placed a hand on Stan's shaking shoulder. "Maybe he needs to talk to you."

* * *

**Author's Notes**

Well, on to the next one I s'pose.

Thank you for reading, and review if you wish. I'm so flattered and flustered by the number of people who have read this. I'd really love to know what you think, honestly.

**~A.P**


	5. Forward, not permanent

**Chapter Five:** Forward, not permanent, sweet, not lasting

"Wendy, would you listen to me?" Craig asked, watching Wendy run around his room, throwing his clothes into a suitcase. He had to leave for the airport in a few minutes, but he still hadn't packed. Realizing the rush he was in, he asked his stepsister for help. Wendy had begrudgingly obliged, muttering something about how boys could never do things on their own.

She closed the suitcase and zipped it shut. "What?"

"It's about Stan." Wendy rolled her eyes. Craig just flipped her off. "I just don't want to see you get hurt, alright? Stan can get a little desperate and you know he'll just use you until the pain goes away."

"Uh huh," Wendy sighed, dragging Craig's suitcase out of his room and down the stairs.

"Stan can be a dick," Craig continued, "and no offence, but you don't exactly make the wisest relationship choices."

Wendy couldn't argue with that. She had dated Stan on-and-off for years, always being the one left heartbroken. Still, despite this fact, she always went crawling back to him. She'd welcome him back into her life with a slew of "I miss you's" and a hug, knowing it would end the same way. Craig had been telling her for years not to believe it if Stan ever said 'I love you'.

"Just promise me you won't do anything stupid when I'm gone, alright?" Craig said, leaning against the doorpost. "Something stupid like, uh, hook up with some asshole who doesn't care about you?" Wendy flushed at his frank comment.

"Sure, Craig." She said quietly, setting his suitcase down at his side. "I'll keep your advice in mind."

"'kay," Craig flipped her off before heading out of the house, suitcase in tow, "See you in a few weeks, Wendy."

"Bye, Craig." Wendy sighed as Craig shut the door behind him. She pulled her phone out of her pocket, noticing three new text messages, all from Stan. Her fingers hovered over the keypad to reply, but then thought back to Craig's advice. Craig only spoke up when he had genuine concern to do so, when he could tell that something was slightly awry. She shrugged and shoved the phone back in her pocket, not even bothering to respond.

* * *

Craig dragged his suitcase across the sidewalk to the house next-door. There was one more person he had to say goodbye to. When Craig and his mom had moved in with Wendy and her dad, he was surprised that the Tucker-Testaburger household was right next to the Tweak household. He smiled as his jittery best friend answer the door.

"Ahk, hi Craig," Tweek said, letting out a violent twitch. "Y-you leaving now?"

"Yeah, I should get going. Don't want to miss the flight."

"Oh man, flying is way too much pressure." Tweek shuddered in the cold. "I, uh, hope you have a good trip."

"Me too." Craig stepped forward and wrapped his best friend in a hug. "I'll miss ya, Tweekers. Don't drink too much coffee while I'm gone."

"Yeah, ngh, right." Tweek giggled into Craig's shoulder.

"Keep me updated, ok Tweek? If shit goes down I'm on the first plane home." Craig placed both hands on Tweek's shoulders, looking keenly into his brown eyes.

Tweek nodded in response. "Anything else?"

Craig furrowed his brow."Actually, can you keep an eye on Wendy for me?"

"Ack, ok." Tweek gave him a lopsided grin. "Someone has to be her over-protective step-brother while you're gone, right?"Craig smirked, playfully punching Tweek's arm.

"Thanks, dude. Means a lot." Craig waved, pulling the suitcase away from Tweek's door. "See ya, Tweek."

"Bye, Craig. See you soon."

* * *

**Author's note**

If you're thinking _DaywalkerPistachio, this chapter has nothing to do with the last one!_ Don't get your knickers in a knot. "Though this be madness, yet there is method in it." (Shakespeare)

This chapter was surprisingly difficult to write. I think I'm in a funk. Anyway, a few little things. Everything Craig says to Wendy is based off of actual advice I've given my friends, so I guess I'm kinda Craig in this... huh. Also, I know that Craig and Wendy aren't step-siblings, but it's honestly important to the plot. I'm not just taking creative liberties. And about the Craig and Tweek bit, it's not supposed to come across Creek-ish, but if you want to read it that way, be my guest.

Special thank you to astrya02 for hacking this chapter to bits. You really saved my ass on this one, Taz.

**Review if you wish, and thank you for reading.**

_**~A.P**_


	6. I'll make a ghost of him that lets me

**Chapter Six:** I'll make a ghost of him that lets me.

"So fucking cold," Stan growled into the night. His breath fogged the air in front of this face in rhythmic puffs as he breathed. Stan shoved his hand into his pocket, his fingers ghosting over the handle of the pocket knife Kenny had given him before his death. He turned toward the back of the school, seeing Kyle and the Goths already waiting for him. The quiet conversation the three were sharing stopped abruptly when they saw Stan.

"On time." The tallest of the Goths said, looking at the watch on his wrist.

"He'll be here soon, Stan," Kyle slipped his arm around Stan's shoulders, leading him toward the wall of the school. The four boys leaned against the wall. The only sound in the still and soundless night was their soft breathing. Minutes ticked by as the four waited silently, Stan keeping his gaze on the frozen ground ahead of him. A quiet beeping interrupted the silence, causing the boys to hitch their breath as the tallest Goth checked the time.

"There." The other goth pointed to the thicket. A young man approached, soundlessly making his way towards the four of them.

Stan stepped forward, stumbling slightly as he edged toward the apparition looming before him. "Oh my God." Stan whispered, feeling his knees wobble as his friend's ghost approached. "Kenny? Why are you here?" Kenny's silent steps stopped in front of Stan, his slightly transparent feet hovering above the frost laden ground. "Please, Kenny, talk to me." Kenny's pale, shadowed eyes traced Stan's quivering figure before lifting and resting on Kyle and the Goths. He gazed back at Stan, lifting his arm and pointing towards the trees. He turned, returning to the trees he had just left with remarkable speed. Stan breathed deeply, lunging forward after Kenny.

"Stan! Stop!" Kyle yelled after his friend, running toward him. He grabbed Stan's shoulders. "What are you doing?"

"He wants me to follow him. Let me go, Kyle." Stan jerked his shoulders, struggling to free them from Kyle's grip.

"And what if he tries to kill you?" Kyle screamed, wrapping his arms around Stan's waist and pulling him back.

"Don't care. Let me go!" Stan clawed at Kyle's hands. "He'll talk to me if I follow him." He looked up at the trees, catching a smudge of orange at the edge of the trees. "Wait, Kenny!" Stan leaned forward, throwing Kyle off balance and freeing himself from his friend's frantic grasp. Stan began running again, determined not to lose Kenny in the trees. Kyle managed to catch Stan again, this time aided by the Goths, who pulled him back from the edge of the thicket.

"Dude, you can't go in there." Kyle desperately yelled, pulling Stan back by the arm. Stan screamed, ripping his arms free from their holds. He punched Kyle in the gut, causing him to reel back and crash into the tallest Goth, sending both of them tumbling to the ground. Kyle stared up at Stan with pained, questioning eyes. Stan stood over him, panting, his face harshly shadowed in the pale light.

"Don't stop me, Kyle." Stan balled his hands into fists, spinning on his heels to look at the Goths, who stepped back as Stan glared at them with murderous eyes. "Or you. Next person who tries to stop me is a dead man." He looked up and the knotted branches overhead, before searching the crooked, arching tree trunks that made up the thicket.

"Kenny! I'm coming." Stan called as he rushed into the small forest, darting between the trees.

"He's gone crazy with anticipation." Kyle reached out, as the red-fringed Goth extended a hand to lift him up.

"We should follow him." The curly-haired Goth brushed the dirt and frost from his black, torn jeans.

"Yeah, we should. I'm worried." Kyle apprehensively approached the thicket, making his steps light. He placed a hand on a knotted tree trunk, looking at Stan's footprints embedded in the cold, unforgiving earth. Kyle's eyes grazed Stan's path through the upturned underbrush between the trees until the path disappeared into the shadows deep in the forest.

Kyle whispered into the cold. "What have you gotten into, Stan?"

**

* * *

Author's Note**

It has been a LONG time since I've updated this. And would you look at that? There is plot developing, finally. Thank you Taz for editing, as always. Review if you wish, and thanks for reading.

**~A.P.**


	7. These are but wild and whirling words

**These are but wild and whirling words**

Stan weaved through the trees, swatting away the hanging branches that obstructed his view. He didn't know where he was running, but something inside beckoned him forward, pulling him towards the center of the thicket. The faint moonlight illuminated the trees' outlines, drenching them in thick shadows that spread across the underbrush. He stopped to catch his breath, resting his hands on his knees. Aching pain crawled up his calves and settled behind his kneecaps as he breathed heavily.

"Stop," Stan panted, "I can't run anymore."

"What did they tell you?"

"Huh?"

"What did they tell you about how I died?" Kenny's ghostly image stood among the trees, staring at Stan with dull, pale blue eyes.

"Kenny, what are you doing he-"

"Answer the question Stan." Kenny took a few hovering steps towards Stan, who lurched back in response. Kenny continued walking toward him. "Calm down. I'm not going to hurt you." Kenny placed two translucent hands on Stan's shoulders. Stan shuddered, the cold burning through his jacket and arms. Who knew that a ghost's grip could be so strong.

"K-ken..." Tears pooled in the corner of Stan's eyes as he stared up at his friend. "You're back." Stan's face broke into a shaking smile.

"Just for now," Kenny smiled, his features softening. "I think you need to know something." He stared down at Stan, dull eyes panning over his face. "When I died, what did they tell you?"

"They said you fell off the dock at Stark's Pond. Hit your head on a rock."

"Clever." Kenny smiled, a playful edge in his voice. "I didn't fall and hit my head. Someone bashed my head with a rock before tossing my body into Stark's Pond."

"Oh my god." Stan gaped at Kenny's unfaltering expression. "You- you were murdered?" Kenny nodded. "Why would anyone want to murder you?"

Kenny shrugged. "Jealousy? Popularity? Bebe? You take your pick."

"It was..." Stan choked on the caustic realization that that unwillingly lodged itself in his throat, drowning out his ability to speak.

"Who else would?"

"Why are you telling me?"

"Because Stan, I need you to help me."

* * *

Kyle wandered around the edge of the trees, straining his eyes to see a glimpse of his best friend. The sun was beginning to rise, dusting the trees in a thin orange glow. He heard something snap among the knotted branches, followed by giggling.

"Stan? You there?" He called.

"Kyle!" Stan stumbled out of the trees and tossed his arms around Kyle's neck. "I know what I have to do now." He backed away from Kyle, grinning brightly.

Kyle stared at his friend, eyes travelling down to his hands. One hand brandished the pocket knife Kenny had given him, while his other hand was slicked with blood.

"What happened to your hand Stan?"

Stan shrugged. "Nothing really. Best way to make a promise is with your own blood, right?" He held the bloodied hand up, showing the linear slit across his palm.

"Promise for what? Stan, what did Kenny say?"

"I just have to help him with a little something, that's all."

"Help him with what?"

"Shh!" Stan hissed, covering Kyle's mouth with his non-bloodied hand. "I can't tell you but you have to understand, only I can do this. You... I just might need you to help me, go along with it, okay?"

"Stan, you aren't making sense." Kyle's voice was muffled by Stan's hand.

"Things have changed. I'm the only one who can fix it. Only I can set it right. I should..." he trailed off, lifting his eyes to the rising sun, orange light reflecting in his pupils. "No, never mind, we should go, it's early."

* * *

**Author's Note**

Surprisingly, this all came together really quick. There was so much more I could have written, especially in the first scene. However, I decided to leave it up to the imagination, for now. Review if you wish, and thank you for reading.

_~A.P._


	8. He seem'd to find his way without his ey

**Chapter Eight: ** He seem'd to find his way without his eyes

Tweek lifted his recently topped-off mug off the counter and took a dangerously large sip of the hot liquid. He looked at the mug,rubbing his thumbs across the slightly faded skyline of New York City that was printed across the porcelain surface.

Tweek sighed and turned the corner, facing into the living room, where Wendy sat on the couch, elbows on her knees and sobbing quietly into her hands. Mascara streaked tissues were scattered across the coffee table, and her shoulders shook briefly with the sobs. Since Wendy had shown up out of the blue and plunked herself down on Tweek's couch, he had just stared at her nervously from the kitchen. He knew it probably wasn't the best solution, but dealing with crying girls was definitely not one of Tweek's strong points. But, this was his best friend's step-sister,and he had promised to look after her, so he had to do something.

"D-do you want something to drink, Wendy?" Tweek asked, fingers slightly stroking the raised ink on the mug. Wendy looked up and nodded, biting her bottom lip. Tweek mimicked her shy nodding and turned back to the kitchen, grabbing another mug from the cupboard, this time from Washington, and filling it with more coffee from the pot. He carried the two mugs into the living room, nervously fidgeting his shoulders to avoid spilling the mugs.

Tweek sat next to her on the couch and silently handed the mug over to Wendy. She quietly took the mug from him, muttering a small thank you.

"Tweek, something's wrong." She shuddered and then took a drink of the coffee. "I'm sorry for barging in, but I didn't know where else to go."

"Uh, you can tell me, it's okay."

Wendy breathed deeply. "Stan."

"Again?" Tweek ran his fingers through his matted blond tangles. "What happened?"

"I was at the bookstore, you know, just trying to find something to read. I could see him around the bookshelves, just watching me." She sighed. "He was following me, and then just ran up to me and grabbed me and stared at me with... with this look. It was overbearing." Wendy dropped her gaze, curling her purple fingernails against the porcelain coffee mug.

"And..." Tweek coaxed, left eye twitching.

"He just grabbed me and sort of studied me. He looked awful, like he'd been beat-up and hadn't slept in weeks."

"And he didn't say a-anything?"

"No, nothing. He kept squeezing my arms, and he looked angry, but sad. And, he looked a little conflicted. Like he wanted to say something but couldn't. And then he shoveded me against the bookshelf and stormed out." She lifted her arm and rubbed the back of her shoulder, obviously where the unwanted contact with the bookshelf had occured.

"Huh." Tweek stared out the window, chin resting in the palm of his hand. It was a pathetic attempt to try to stay calm and collected, two concepts that Tweek would never be good at, but he tried nonetheless. "You don't think he's upset that you're not responding to his texts about getting back together?"

"I told him, Tweek. I made myself clear."

"Maybe he's upset you won't d-date him again?"

Wendy shrugged. "He looked so... disturbed."

"You sure its not because you won't date him?"

"Tweek."

"No, really." Tweek turned on the couch so he was facing Wendy. "You're ignoring his calls, you don't speak to him, you avoid him as much as-"

"You're saying I should get back with him?"

"N-no! He treats you like shit!" Tweek's reply slipped out a little loudly than initially intended. Wendy moved her shoulders back and gave him an incredulous look. "I don't know much about relationships, but this on again off again stuff can't be good." Tweek had read enough psychology textbooks in a vain effort of self-diagnosis to know the emotional toll relationship patterns could cause. He gave a rather violent twitch and took a few seconds to regain composure. "But, maybe he's upset you're not playing his little game anymore."

Wendy looked away from Tweek's face to stare blankly into her coffee cup. "So, what should I do?"

Tweek shrugged. "Talk to his friends about it. I'm sure they're worried about him too."

Wendy nodded. "Are you going to tell Craig about this?"

"Well, I just said that Stan's been acting weird lately, because well, he has, and every one's noticed. I've told him-"

"Can we just leave this little episode out of it? I don't want him to worry." Wendy smiled weakly. "What he doesn't know can't hurt him, right?"

Tweek knew better, things you didn't know always came back to hurt you. Ignorance wasn't bliss, ignorance was what convinced you that the shadows across your window were only tree branches, and not something more. Ignorance kept you paranoid. Something in the back of Tweek's mind pulled at him, warning him that Craig should definitely know about what was happening between Wendy and Stan, and that a 'no, they aren't dating again' wasn't enough. Craig should know.

"Yeah, I won't tell him anything. Promise."

* * *

**Author's Notes**

Sorry for taking a forever and a half to updating this thing. This chapter was a lot of fun to write, I even got to slip a little bit of my own headcanon for Tweek in there. (Tweek has an ecclectic collection of mugs from all over the place. Some are from places he's visited, most are gifts from other people's travels. Of all the stories I've written with him [most are unfinished], this is the only time the mugs have come up.) Unfortunately though I have no idea how to go about starting the next chapter. This will update when it updates.

Review if you wish and thanks for reading!


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